


She Stumbles

by arturas



Category: Star Wars Legends: Knights of the Old Republic (Video Games), Star Wars Legends: Knights of the Old Republic II: The Sith Lords (Video Games)
Genre: Angst, Bittersweet Ending, Gen, Gray Jedi (Star Wars), Gray Jedi Exile (Star Wars), Gray Revan (Star Wars), Grief/Mourning, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Light Side Jedi Exile (Star Wars), Light Side Revan (Star Wars), Loss, Lost Love, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-01
Updated: 2021-02-01
Packaged: 2021-03-12 07:53:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29132121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arturas/pseuds/arturas
Summary: The first time she stumbles apropos of nothing she plays it off as if she merely tripped over her own feet.Six moments where the Exile stumbles, and one where Revan kneels to join her.
Relationships: Revan/Bastila Shan, The Jedi Exile/Atton "Jaq" Rand
Comments: 3
Kudos: 12





	She Stumbles

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings for implied/referenced character death. Set in a timeline where all six potential padawans survived the events of the base game. As always - kudos, comments and concrit loved.

The first time she stumbles apropos of nothing she plays it off as if she merely tripped over her own feet. ‘Distracted,’ she claims, and Revan doesn’t pry because despite the creases around her eyes and the ache in the Force around her, her voice is still steady. She keeps walking, head high, and does not trip again.

Revan is not a fool but nor is he one to pry. As long as Surik can still fight he is content to let her keep her pain to herself. He has his own ghosts to deal with, after all.

Her eyes film over with white as she looks through the Force to guide them. If he sees that her lips are pursed a little tighter than usual, he does not mention it.

* * *

The second time she stumbles – more than a year after the first – she has to catch her lightsaber with the Force to prevent it clattering to the ground.

‘What is it?’ Revan demands, concerned. He has long since forgotten that first strange stumble.

Surik shakes her head, eyes closed, and whispers, ‘Tripped.’ The Force around her is mournful, melancholic, yet somehow relieved.

He remembers the first stumble and he does not pry further. Someone else’s pain may have ended but hers continues. She will endure; it is the way of the Jedi.

Later, she meditates in the workbay, and he pretends not to find it strange.

* * *

The third time she stumbles they’re in the midst of a fight and for an awful second, Revan fears she has been wounded or killed, but the Force spikes with sorrow and he grits his teeth instead. It has been only a few months since the last one.

‘Watch your shields,’ he calls, even though she’s still surrounded by a thin blue field of energy.

Surik holsters her lightsaber, relying solely on the Force to deflect the bolts flying toward her, and leaps forward to take down a bounty-hunter with her bare hands. She fights with a grace Revan has not seen in years; her movements are smooth, almost dancelike, and as they whittle down their opponents Revan considers asking her to train him when the opportunity presents itself.

When the battle is finished, the ache is still raw, so he holds his tongue.

Months later he finds himself sparring in the cargo hold, in his underwear, against a similarly-unclothed Surik. He does not feel graceful or elegant. Her movements are just as fluid as they were that day on the battlefield, though, and he pretends not to notice the way she pauses when he asks where she learned such a style of fighting.

‘In this cargo-bay,’ she eventually answers, with a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. 'From a dear padawan.'

She offers nothing more, and he does not push for it.

* * *

The fourth time she stumbles she spills a fresh cup of caf over T3-M4. It has been a year or two since the last one and her gasp is not entirely one of surprise. T3’s binary ejaculations are, though, and the little droid is no younger than either of them, so Revan orders her to fetch some spare rags as he moves to fix the mess.

‘I am so sorry,’ she says upon her return. If Revan looks closely, he thinks he might almost see a tremble in her upper lip, though her tone remains steady and sincere. The ache in the Force is strange, this time – that of a mentor, yet somehow maternal.

He takes the least filthy of the rags with one hand, giving T3 a reassuring pat with the other. ‘These things happen,’ he says. ‘As long as we don’t let them drag us down, it is fine.’

She takes a rag herself and murmurs condolences to T3 as she cleans. Once, Revan swears he hears a stranger’s name but he’s in the middle of replacing a shorted diode and doesn’t have the concentration to spare on listening more closely.

After T3 is clean, he gives the droid a fond pat and glances at Surik. ‘Who were they?’

She hesitates in the corridor, her hands full of filthy rags. ‘A padawan,’ she eventually says, quietly. ‘A good one.’

‘It’s always the good ones,’ he agrees.

Her face clouds with grief. ‘I have had no other kind,' she says, and leaves to wash the rags out in the med-bay sink.

Once upon a time he was almost jealous of how easily Surik formed bonds with those around her. Now, he can only pity her, and be thankful that the shadows of his past remain frozen in time where he left them.

* * *

The fifth time she stumbles they’re in the midst of sneaking into a hostile installation and Revan has to Force-pull her back from the radius of a frag mine. He almost lays into her – if they’re caught now, the last several months’ work will have been for nothing – before he feels the shift in the Force around her. This time, the sorrow is tinged with pride.

‘The mission must come first,’ he warns her. ‘We do not have time –’

‘It is fine.’ She clasps her hands to her chest and exhales once, eyes closed; when she opens her eyes again they are still sad, but clear. ‘This was not unexpected.’

‘Death very rarely is.’

Her lips twitch in something very close to a smile. She indicates for him to wait and – before he can stop her – steps forward, straight into the mine’s radius.

It does not explode.

‘It has been a while, but I still remember the codes for this model,’ she says as she disarms it. Her fingers move deftly, almost unconsciously. ‘She told me a story about it, once. It saved her life. In turn, she saved others, until the very end.’

He does not ask how she is so confident of such a thing. Even if she is wrong she believes it so strongly, with such pure conviction he can _feel_ it, that he cannot bring himself to doubt her. ‘Beyond, too,’ he says, as they move onto the next mine. ‘Your pride in your padawans is well-founded.’

This time she does smile. As always after she stumbles, it does not reach her eyes.

* * *

The last time she stumbles, she falls, and does not rise. He hears the dull _thud_ of knees hitting the floor from the cockpit.

‘Surik?’ he calls, concerned – he felt a sudden burst of agony followed by nothing, and though they’re in the midst of a hyperspace jump he wouldn’t put it past the pair of them to have somehow found themselves in danger – but when he reaches out across their bond he finds only a game of pazaak.

He keeps one hand on his lightsaber as he hurries to the common room.

She is on her hands and knees, breathing hard, almost shaking – no, she _is_ shaking. At first he thinks she’s staring at the floor but as he draws near he can see that her face is screwed up in pained concentration; as he kneels beside her, puts a hand on her shoulder, he hears what she is whispering under her breath: _there is no emotion, only peace_.

‘You of all people should know that for a lie,’ he murmurs, and she hunches over on herself as if she can somehow collapse into her own personal singularity. The pazaak game wavers – she’s on an eighteen and draws a two but can’t force herself to play it – then collapses. He is swamped in a wave of painfully, agonizingly familiar sorrow, stained with guilt and tinged with heavy, wet anger.

Revan closes his eyes, attempting to ignore the burning that threatens to push through the corners of his eyes. He’s not a fool. He knew what he was heading into when he left and he knew what he was leaving behind – _who_ he was leaving behind. Even now, more than a decade later, the pain is not any duller than it was the day he left. He can still see her face, hear her voice, feel the warmth of her in his arms. He was never as talented with bonds as Surik was, though, and ignorance is very, very different to _knowing_ that there is no-one left waiting for your return.

Perhaps he is a fool after all.

‘I am sorry,’ he finally says. His voice is so low even he can barely hear it; if he speaks any louder, he fears the lump in his throat will be audible.

She tries to speak but her words are lost in a choked sob. She shakes her head, chokes again, and rubs the back of one hand across her eyes. ‘I – promised him –’ 

‘He knew it was a promise of hope, not of fact.’ Revan tightens his grip on her shoulder as a wordless shudder runs through her body. ‘As did you. As did everyone we left behind. He would not have blamed you. Nor would he want you to feel guilt over such a thing. Sorrow, fair – but not guilt.’

Another sob escapes, clawing its way free of her throat. She has yet to look up but Revan can see several tear-drops on the cold steel floor.

Revan settles down to rest on both his knees, as if he was meditating. He keeps one hand on her shoulder.

‘It hurts so much more than I thought it would,’ she finally whispers. The words herald another full-body tremble. ‘I thought – for a moment –’

‘Anger is a natural response to loss, but do not let it consume you.’ His mind brings up Alek, unbidden, and the grief in his heart swells again. ‘Death is a natural part of life. All things must return to the Force, in the end. We must accept this.’

Surik shakes her head. The Force around her twists, no lighter than before. ‘I don’t – I knew that. I accepted that long ago. I just… it’s not _fair_. I had so little time with him and now – now I can never make up for it. I – I _hate_ it.’

Once, more than a decade ago, he’d had a similar conversation with a rather different Jedi in this very room. She, too, had hated that their paths had crossed so shortly before they were parted. She too had been given promises of hope and stayed behind knowing that they would never come to pass.

And like Surik, he had left clinging to the faintest hope of a miracle, knowing full well that a hope was all it would remain.

Revan slowly exhales through his nose, his heart heavy with shared grief. ‘Mourn for what was, not what will never be. We all return to the Force in the end – you will see him again, in time, and when you do there will be all the time in the galaxy.’

She finally looks up. Her eyes are red, her cheeks puffy. ‘Is that what you believe?’

‘It is what I _know_.’ He gives her a faint, sad smile. ‘You are not the only one with time to make up for. They will be there and, when our time comes, we will join them. For now – we can only live to make them proud.’

Tears bead in her eyes and she bows her head once more. Grief still swirls around her, around him, but the anger begins to fade. In its place comes new resolve and warm, beautiful memories of love.

He rises to his feet, then helps her find her own.

She does not stumble again.

**Author's Note:**

> In order: Visas, Bao-Dur, Brianna, Mical, Mira and Atton.
> 
> I am not entirely sure where this story came from but it was blocking me from working on EpVIII of _and conscience calls the guilty to come home_ , so out it came.


End file.
